


From the Ashes...

by loveamongstars



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt No Comfort, Mutation, Near Death Experiences, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Wraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24527053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveamongstars/pseuds/loveamongstars
Summary: All alone, Jaskier found himself fatally wounded, his life slipping away with every drop of blood lost. Barely clinging to life a traveler finds Jaskier and chooses to undertake drastic measures that change Jaskier's life forever and alter his destiny.Having been found by a witcher of the bear school, Jaskier embarks on the journey of becoming a witcher and finding his place in the world anew.
Comments: 54
Kudos: 197





	1. Ashes to Ashes

“T…t…t…toss…a…c…coin…” Warmth seeped through his fingers as he slid them across his upper body, trying to find one point to press, to make it stop. One way or another, but to make it stop. It would stop, he knew as much. It would stop, eventually. All he had to do was hang on, or rather let go. All he had to do was let himself slip over the edge, to allow darkness to take him. A friend would know what to do now, where to push, to either invite the darkness in or keep it at bay. He knew where to lay his hand to summon the darkness like an old friend or a master, to whom he paid tribute to over and over, to end his existence without further pain. And he knew where to press to keep that same old friend or master at bay to tell him:  
Not yet, not yet.

Instead of that friend an empty dark gray sky stared back at Jaskier, the gray almost unsure of whether it wanted to release rain to shed tears over him or release thunder in anger, both in mourning of a life that was slipping away as fast as the blood was seeping out between Jaskier’s fingers. This had to be his end.  
Finally after a decade long life, he found the answer to a question he had once posed to himself: How would he welcome death: Calm, collected, with a sense of acceptance. As a shadow crossed his vision, he smiled. Finally death was here. He could even feel him as he touched his cheek. All the stories though were wrong. As he touched his arm it was fire spreading through his veins, bit by bit, like insects crawling up inside him, ripping him apart. He almost expected to see dust before his eyes as he fell apart to nothing but dust. There was no dust, only the shadowy figure and flashes that most certainly didn’t come from the sky. Slowly these flashes turned to solid light, forming something like a tunnel. Jaskier closed his eyes. With one silent painful breath he let the light wash over him, hopefully to wash the pain away.

The pain was gone as Jaskier stood in a room made of light entirely. The only dark patch in it was a man apparently made of darkness. The shape bordered on familiarity, strong muscles, tall, something like the shape of long hair floating around his head. Jaskier took a long look at the other man. After what he had happen to him, he knew instinctively what was happening, he knew the legends and ideas after all: This was it, the edge of life. 

“Indeed,” The figure before him said, the voice gravely and deep, tempting as he had never heard a voice before. It was almost like it was designed to be entirely comforting, to help him glide closer to the edge and to pull him over it. It was in perfect contrast to what he consciously knew a dark figure like that to mean. All he had to do was to reach out, touch him and fall into the dark abyss that lay beyond that figure. 

“You have a choice now, Julian. I give you one choice only. Join me… and the pain will stop. Forever…” As tempting as that sounded to Jaskier the darkness seemed to grow bigger, more menacing and the voice lost the pleasant, seducing charm for just the slither of a moment when he said ‘me’. And yet had that not been what he had craved only moments ago.

“What is the other option?” The bard didn’t move towards the figure, not without having heard the other option. The darkness raised a hand and pointed behind the bard. Jaskier turned around. Behind him a dark spot swirled, growing bigger and bigger, flashes of lightning broke through it in an almost mesmerizing image of a thunderstom. 

“Pain. Fighting for your own existence.” 

“But no guaranteed survival,” Jaskier added.

“Julian…you have always been a clever one.” The voice of the darkness changed again, a tempting mixture between two voices he knew all too well, Geralt among them and a third mixed voice almost providing a taunting backdrop to the temptation: Valdo Marx. So it meant if he chose the other portal there would be pain, while the tempting figure offered an easy way out, was this what he wanted? What he truly wanted? Jaskier turned once more to look at the portal. It was pain, but it was also life. It was time, precious time. 

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands,” he heard the figure behind him whisper again. “He would never be able to say this to you again if you come with me.”

“And I would never be able to make it right. I would never be able to…” Experience another sunrise, water on his feet, a dance, another smile. He would never be able to stand up for himself and make Geralt see that it was not his fault, that while it was his choice to stay, it was out of friendship and love for him, not out of cowardice, not because he wanted to use him.

“There is no guarantee you would survive fighting for your life.”

“But there is a chance.” He turned back at the figure. The shape was changing as he looked at it. The hair grew longer, the shape turned into the feminine curves of a love lost to him now, lost to him forever, except in death perhaps. 

“Julian…please…” It was purely her voice now, no longer mixed with Geralt’s and Valdo’s, just her tempting sweet voice, calling him to her. The dark hand reached out to her and before he knew it he raised his hand as if to take it. To see her once more, to hold her once more what would he give for it…but if death was at the end of the other journey as well, what did he have to lose. Just as their hands just brushed, he took a step back and another. Still reaching out he stepped backward into the portal. Lighting engulfed him and pain erupted in him again, but he held back a scream as the figure turned from darkness into her image, he long blond hair braided as he last saw her, her rich dress white, embroidered befitted to a princess, a soft smile playing around her lips as she raised her hand to her lips and kissed it. He understood, when he died, she would still be waiting. 

He screamed. With the pain came glimpses of consciousness, a horse ride, a dark room, candles, figures dancing over him, being propped up and fed tincture after tincture. He heard voices. He felt hands on his overheated body and cold cloths. He felt shackles around his ankles and wrists. And finally as the pain faded, so did the fight. Part of him thought it was time, he lost, but the other part of him realized he was shaking, still. A little bit of fight was still left in him.

Enough fight to finally open his eyes…as his surroundings came into view he was met with the dark insides of what looked like a run down castle that was clearly in need of dusting. It was dark outside, through a small window he could see stars, but it was still early enough for the candles to barely have burnt down. It was then, looking at the candles that he noticed the dust, each individual little piece of dust was clearly visible to him. He heard footsteps, but nobody seemed to be in the room with him, but the one sensation that startled him the most was the smell. Metallic, almost rusty, just a little familiar to him. It reminded him of this one time being surrounded by recently deceased bodies, the ground bathed in blood that was still so fresh it was still red. Jaskier almost expected to see blood surround him, but all he found was a slightly bloodied cloth around his abdomen where the once fatal wound was covered. As he sat up he caught sight of the reflection of his own movement in a small mirror. Something was off about his reflection, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Jaskier swung his legs over the edge of the table he lay on. Slowly he limped towards the mirror. At first he realized that his ankles and wrists held angry markings of having been shackled down, but then he finally realized what he set him off. His eyes. He was used to blue eyes looking back at him. They were no longer blue. They were no longer human. A pair of golden cat eyes looked back at him. Jaskier was too familiar with witcher to not know what it meant. He reached a shaking hand up and rested it against his cheek, just to see if the mirror would do the same, if there was any failure on the mirrors side to indicate hopefully that it was his mind or someones magic playing a trick on him. But instead he saw every callus, every tiny scar on his own hand, every single marking as clear as if he held his hand closely to his face. Lost in the revelation he had not paid attention to the footsteps until the door opened entirely too loud. 

An older man stood in it, clad in only a shirt and matching breeches. Around his neck dangled a medallion depicting the head of an animal, similar to what he had seen on Geralt, but this was no wolf…this was a bear. 

“What did you do to me?”


	2. Settling Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is slowly setting into his new life and reconnects with an old acquaintance.

“What did you do to me?” The other man - his eyes betrayed him as another witcher. There were grey streaks in his hair and beard, he walked slightly hunched, but it seemed more due to an old injury than due to age. It almost seemed as if he was hunched due to the weight of his medallion pulling him down. He seemed unkempt as if he had just woken up but then the rest of his appearance made it seem like he hadn’t slept in quite a while. Maybe that was true.

“I took a chance on you,” the man replied. His voice was deep as if it was hoarse, but Jaskier immediately had the feeling that his voice was always like that and a closer look at the man's neck supported it. Scars as if he had been burnt were visible on the left side of his neck. That might be an injury that could leave someone's voice compromised. “You were dying.”

“I thought witchers lost the knowledge on how to make new witchers.” The man nodded as he came closer. He reached out, slowly even though Jaskier suspected that he could go a lot faster. He took it slowly as if not to spook him, probably handling him like he would handle a fawn. It was…kindness, he thought that prompted him to do so.

“We couldn’t. The knowledge was lost. There were mere scraps of parchment left in this school on how to create the decoctions for it.” 

“You experimented,” Jaskier deadpanned. “And you succeeded. Why me?” The older witcher smiled sadly.

“As much as I would love to have a better reason, the reason is as simple as painful: You were beyond saving, that is the reason. If it didn’t work, all I would have done would be to accelerate your demise. If it worked, well, you know the result.” Jaskier nodded. He survived and evidently sustained the mutations of a witcher, that didn’t make him one yet. However, he knew the world out there. He knew the mutations alone were damning and would forever change his life. The eyes were such a sure way to tell he was a witcher, everybody who knew enough would realize he was mutated. So even if he refused to train as a witcher, he would be shunned like one regardless. His life as a bard as he knew it was officially over. 

“Do you plan on training me then,” he asked the older witcher. He gave him a sad smile.

“If you wish it, yes. You had no choice over becoming a mutant, becoming a witcher will be your choice.” And yet he knew children were robbed of that choice for various reasons. Why should he have a choice now when kids hadn’t? They, unlike him, probably didn’t even know what the consequences were. He knew it. He was going into it with eyes wide open. Too wide. But there was no going back at this point. He was a mutant now, might as well become a proper witcher.

“I know how this world treats witchers. I see my eyes and others will, too. No matter what happens, I will be treated like a witcher now. At least if you’d train me I could contribute a little.” The older witcher gave him a sad smile. Jaskier honestly got the idea that he had expected him to die or at the very least he felt for him. There was sadly no turning back.

“First we get some food into you. I am Grover. What may I call you?” Wasn’t that the question. Jaskier stopped for a moment to consider. Usually, he would have considered introducing himself as Jaskier, but Jaskier was a bard. A bard whom people loved to see, with those eyes, with what he was, that was bound to change now. 

“Julian,” he replied. Grover motioned or him to follow him outside of the room. And yet their steps made him slow down almost immediately. Every step seemed to vibrate in a lot of noise. Grover turned around.

“Enhanced senses. I will teach you how to hone them and use them.” He reached back to place a hand on Julian’s shoulder and smiled at him, before giving it a bit of pressure to guide him.

Grover brought him to a great hall, in which a wall seemed to sport a hole, which gave a good view of the courtyard.

“What happened here?” 

“The same thing that happened to many schools, people came to attack and end the guild of witchers. It is there we lost our ability to make more. Eat now, Julian. I am afraid you have plenty of time to discover this.” And Julian sadly agreed to that. He had time to discover it, a lot of time. Without another word, he sat at a table as Grover got bread and dried meat, cheese, and a cup of ale. Julian started to eat, only then realizing how famished he was. He hadn’t eaten since before being attacked and almost killed, so he ate carefully, not wanting to overdo it unless his mutated body could handle more than a normal human body could. He was not prepared to try that just yet. Then again what was he prepared for?  
Nothing.

Training began the next days, with books - which was something he was familiar with, so it was something he dove in head-first, soaking up knowledge like a sponge. It was followed by sword training, originally Grover showed him basics. Julian just watched, an amused smirk on his face before going into a sparring match with him, showing that he was already very, very familiar with the basics of sword fighting.

“You know how to fight?”

“Basics. I am Viscount…or was. Viscounts generally don’t get raised without being shown how to handle one of those.” He pointed at the swords.

“You could have said that,” Grover pointed out mock-annoyed and yet smirking.

“And miss you making an ass out of yourself? Nah.” It was met with an attack that he barely blocked and thus became a lesson entirely about blocking.

That night Julian came up to his room exhausted. It was big, warm, and homely. He had been given a few bookshelves just to himself because books were not what they were lacking. He had intended to sit by the window overlooking the Amell mountains and read but as soon as the sword and coat were sat down the fire in the fireplace started to flicker suspiciously. He saw the breath fog as cold seemed to invade his room. A shadow seemed to fall over one corner. Slowly the shadow seemed to take form, in what seemed to be an echo of what he had seen when he was on the brink of death. Julian turned back to the door, wanting to call for Grover, but as he reached out for the door it slammed shut in a sudden cold breeze. The witcher in training turned back again, deciding if there was no way out, he would at least meet his destiny head-on. Slowly the shadow took a humanoid form and started moving towards him. Veins of green light broke through the darkness of the shadow, beginning where the heart should be, spreading out into her arms, legs, head, hair. She took shape of a woman he knew all too well for he had encountered her spirit on the edge of death just days prior. Nyanah Marika, a woman from his past, who died in a terrible attack on her estate when he was off studying, way before he even became a bard. It had been decades and yet here her spirit was.

“Julian…” Her voice was slightly distorted. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t harm you.”

“Got to admit the menacing door slamming you just did gave me pause on that one. Why, Nyanah?”

“That was an accident.”

“Locking me in was an accident, really?”

“You are not locked in,” the spirit pointed out. Julian reached out and tried the door and it did open. It seemed like he truly wasn’t locked in. 

“Why the cold then.”

“It takes strength to materialize like this. Drawing warmth from a room gives me that strength.” It made sense with what Julian had started to learn. There were certain balances in place. The brutality with which some people were killed was apparently a source of strength in some spirits, others didn’t have to, but the time they were trapped on this plane of existence allowed them to learn a few tricks. And she had that time to learn it seemed. All these years he had thought she had come to rest. Now he knew better.

“You were a spirit all these years,” he asked her. She nodded sadly.

“And you are… a witcher now, Julian? What happened to you?”

“Life did. I played with fire and it burned me,” he replied easily. He had followed a witcher around for so long, spied, he had tempted fate, he knew that. One played with fire traveling alone, too. He knew that. He had played with fire and had gotten lucky until he had that unfortunate encounter and this time there was no Geralt around to save him, no guards close, but one witcher, Grover, the kind older witcher who was the keeper of this keep and now his mentor.

“Do you regret it?” He looked at her surprised. Regret was spoken of so fast that he couldn’t help but notice it. Perhaps regret was one of the things that bound her to this plane. Maybe he could find out what regrets she held onto and help her move on. And yet he questioned himself. Did he regret it? He found himself smiling.

“Not one bit. It’s just another adventure, isn’t it? I got to defy odds all my life and I am defying them once again, what is there to regret?”

“You have always been a special one, Julian,” Nyanah chuckled as she settled onto his bed. He scratched the back of his neck and finally reached for a book. 

“You know, if you could tone down the brightness a bit and give a bit of warmth back to the room we could just sit here, talk and read.” Almost immediately the light in her slowly dimmed, leaving her a lightly glowing shadow and the room significantly warmer. Julian settled on his chair.

“The other witchers aren’t as nice to me as you are.”

“To be fair they were all raised to kill monsters and spirits and a staggering amount of your kind has the tendency to go stabby-stab and explode your brains on people.”

“And you think I won’t,” she asked, curiosity clear on her weirdly distorted voice.

“Why would you? I have not harmed you in your life. I was your friend, your lover and your friend again. You hold no grudge against me and I am not what ties you to this plane either.” Her glow collected on her face to show him she was smiling as he settled back to read about potions and signs. 

Her nightly visits became a routine for them. He was studying while she hung about in the room. They talked and laughed. Meanwhile, he slowly tried to pry information of her death from her which she kept deflecting, apparently set on guarding that detail. Julian was sure he would be able to wear her down with time.

Grover had finally begun to start teaching him signs. They all seemed simple enough in theory, but some were hard on him. Quen felt easy. He always had the desire to protect himself and thus that sign almost came naturally. Axii was equally natural to him. He did, after all change people's minds and hearts as a bard all the time. The first time Grover realized he had managed it was actually when he put a bitter herb into his drink yet again and was woken from it. Instead of being annoyed at Julian's prank, he joyfully embraced him and congratulated him on it. 

It was just around the time Julian managed to emit the first tentative traces of flame in an attempt to used igni, that three men rode into the keep and stopped in their tracks. Grover raised his hand in greeting.

“Vigo, Kras, Vailf, good to finally see you back.”

“Who is this, Grover,” One of them asked almost curiously.

“This is Julian.”

“He is a witcher,” The other witcher noted.

“In training,” Julian threw in as correction. But it seemed like they were set on ignoring him for now.

“It worked. He was dying and I had to try it.”

“So you finally made it happen. You truly did, you son of a bitch.” One by one they hugged Grover, before finally turning to Julian.

The first one was blonde, smaller than Julian, but his muscles left no doubt in how deadly the man could be. “I am Vigo.”

The second one was tall, had dark hair, darker skin and one could just see he was mischievous and knowledgeable. “I am Kras.”

The final one was so clearly Skelliger that Julian didn’t even wait for the tall, burly red-head to introduce himself.

“Vailf, from Skellige,” he said with a grin. It was met with a laugh and him pulling Julian into a bear hug.

“Good to meet our new cub then! Grover, we managed to snag some venison on our way up. I guess our new family member calls for a celebration. Come on cub, let us go inside, get warm, and feast. We all are dying to just get out of our armor and unwind.” And so Grover and Vigo were leading the way up to the dining hall, Kras, Vailf and Julian following with Kras chuckling amused at how Vailf held him almost too tightly.

“You know thanks to you I just now lost the status of being the cub to you and I thank you for it, cub.”


	3. Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyanah reveals herself and Julian's training progresses.

A snap of fingers and a soft flame came to life illuminating the small, but cozy room. Another snap and the fire in the fire place roared to life. Muddy boots were left outside of the room as its occupant stepped into the room. Placing two swords by the door, he barely looked up to spay the shadow in the corner before going to the small wash table where he had placed a bucket of water in the morning. The witcher poured the water in a small bowl, before starting to unclasp the leather clasps that were holding his outer gear together. He set it down over a chair and proceeded to take his shirt off, before dipping his hands into the bowl and starting to wash the mud off from his face. 

When Julian looked up into the mirror, the reflection no longer startled him. The golden eyes were now familiar to him, a symbol of a new life and new purpose. He ran his hand through the beard he was now sporting, before focusing on a piece of mud still stuck in his now longer hair, which he proceeded to wash out. Once more taking himself in he stepped back to get a view of his entire upper body. He had gained more mass, muscles mostly. His body was now less that of a musician, but that of a sword fighter. The man that stared back at him was not Julian Alfred Pankratz, nor Jaskier the bard, but Julian, the witcher of the bear school, a man he was still learning so much about. 

Much like Jaskier, Julian was curious, playful and soaked knowledge up like a sponge, but his mischief had lessened just a bit, it had parted to indulging in experiments with his newfound powers and skills, which more often than not had Grover pretend to have a heart attack. Unlike Jaskier Julian could spend hours repeating the monotonous task of sword training, cleaning and the likes. Very, very much like Jaskier, though, was the fact that Julian was still an excellent actor.

As he turned around and reached for his black robe which he slipped over his shoulders, he threw a sweet smile at the shadow waiting for him in the corner, despite not feeling like smiling at all. In the months of training here in Haern Caduch he had learned a lot of things, one of them being that things were not as it seemed with Nyanah. 

When Julian returned back to his room the first night his new brothers were there, Nyanah was not where she usually was. He didn’t make much of it at first. After all the keep was suddenly filled with three more fully trained witchers. A loud crash made him turn and go down again, almost tripping over his own feet on the stairs twice. He arrived at the hall when another crash could be heard.

“YOU BITCH!” It sounded like the slightly slurred voice of Kras. It sounded like a fight was going on in there and since he was still in training, he decided to just spy around the corner and not engage. In this situation, so he thought, he might just end up being a liability to his newfound witcher brothers. What he saw was something he still had trouble describing despite witnessing it more than once by now: A green ghost, a wraith, like a corpse, with a torn and burned dress around her, was attacking his brothers and dodging their magical traps entirely. He guessed that was something a wraith learned while haunting a witcher’s keep. 

Julian also witnessed something curious in that attack: The wraith seemed entirely uninterested in harming Kras, Vigo and Grover. All three men tried holding her back from attacking Vailf over and over again and yet at the end of it, he witnessed his brother crumbling to his knees and passing out. As soon as that happened the wraith simply disappeared. Back then he was frozen in shock at what he just witnessed. There were four witchers in that room and she dodged their attacks like it was nothing, danced around them, like it was nothing. That certainly was not what it was supposed to look like. He ran inside only after Kras and Vigo picked up Vailf and carried him toward him.

“What was that,” Julian asked Grover. The older witcher simply shook his head and followed the other three upstairs to Vailf’s room. Julian, not knowing fully what to do, but wanting to help, did the one thing he knew would usually help: Fetch water. To his surprise Vailf’s room was heavily warded, probably against the wraith. All three men worked in silence as they forced potion after potion down the Skelliger’s throat. Upon seeing Julian, Grover motioned for him to come in.

“That, little cub, was a wraith. We don’t know who it was in their life. We don’t know what ties it to this place, nor do we know why it targets Vailf, but every time he is here and not in his room when the moon is high, it attacks him until he is close to death and disappears,” the older witcher explained.

“And the bitch is clever. Knows how to dodge our magical traps and almost everything we throw at it,” Kras chimed in. 

“Of course, it if is tied to this place, it probably saw every single one of you train, maybe even fight and learn the witcher signs, too. It soaked up knowledge like you guys did,” Julian answered as he got closer to Vailf’s bed. He was so pale and suddenly so very fragile looking. It was more reflex than anything else that made him reach out and place his hand on his forehead before moving it to his cheek. 

“You seem to be soaking up that knowledge yourself, cub”, Kras replied with a smile. He reached over to give Julian a gentle nudge, which he just smiled to. 

“Will he be okay?”

“A few days rest in here and he will be back in ship-shape. As usual,” Grover said, smiling softly at the downed witcher on the bed.

“And as annoying as ever,” Vigo commented.

When Julian returned to his room that night, Nyanah was not there. He didn’t think much of it at that time. In books he had read that peaceful specters, tied to places due to regret or unfinished business, often hid in the presence of vengeful and angry wraith, apparently they were capable of causing damage among themselves, too. 

That occurrence was a few months ago. Vailf and Vigo had left the keep soon after and Kras stayed to help train Julian. Vailf and Vigo stayed relatively close and frequently returned and soon a pattern became clear: Every time the wraith could be seen in the keep, Nyanah was nowhere to be found, not even a trace of her presence could be found, as if nothing but the wraith ever existed in the castle. Julian was sitting outside, in broad daylight when a passage in a book hit him: Manipulative in nature powerful wraith are able to disguise their true form. There was no no trace of a second ghost, because there was truly only one. Nyanah was the wraith and she never appeared during the nights she attacked Vailf, because she could not revert her form back to Nyanah’s sweet shadow and sweet voice that night. 

With a sigh Julian settled down into his chair and pulled his aching legs up. Todays training had been hard and exhausting. Kras had kept him on his toes in sword fighting basically all day only ever exchanging with Grover, to change fighting styles a little and keep it interesting for him. They wanted and needed to build Julian’s stamina, which was this weeks main goal, aside from still trying to train him to finally use Aard. That one sign seemed to always escape him. He just could not build the concentration or power - or like Kras claimed the headspace - to use it.

As Nyanah hovered close, Julian looked up, suddenly struck by an idea that might actually be worth testing.

“Ny…can we test something,” he asked the spirit, voice carefully laced with curiosity that she would usually expect from him in a situation like that. Her shadow cocked her head but then nodded, apparently curious herself. “Yrden. I want to test Yrden on you.” If he hadn’t been sure or her being the wraith before, he was now. Without an explanation what Yrden was, she flinched back clearly. So she knew what it was and what it meant, enough to be able to avoid it when attacking a witcher. He was not surprised in the least that the warmth slowly crept from his room as she gathered power around her by draining it. Once more she took clearer shape before him

“Don’t be alarmed. I just want to see how they work and…well ghosts become corporal in them. We could…touch.” Depending on what she was, though, it could also reveal her as a worse form of wraith than he realized just then. 

“You don’t want to…” She almost sounded shy, scared even. But in this instance she had nothing to fear from him. He was nowhere near ready to take on a wraith even if he could lure her into Yrden momentarily, he simply stood no chance and she would see if he would go and fetch the silver sword. Attacking her would be foolish. Learning how Yrden worked with a willing subject, though, that was far from foolish.

Once the trap was set Julian walked in. He watched her shape flicker, it almost appeared nervous and in all honesty he could not blame her if she was. He was effectively asking her to be in a trap and make herself vulnerable to someone who knew how to kill her kind, in his case a student of that trade. He asked her to trust him and yet his own trust was….slowly dwindling. She stepped into the circle slowly, carefully, watching herself, actually, as if unsure wether this would reveal her true form or not. Julian however knew she was too powerful for that now.

She did turn corporeal and for that very moment Nyanah was just a pale cover of the girl he used to adore back before he even became a bard. He stared at her fascinated, sought her face out for any traces of the violence that had apparently. She was the same young woman he had remembered as he turned around to return to the academy of Oxenfurt to continue his studies. That was the last time they saw each other. She barely aged from that. He wondered if there should not be a mark on this form, but perhaps she was actually powerful enough to disguise it. And yet he felt pain in his chest as his heart clenched. She died so young, why was he even surprised she was in enough pain to become a wraith? At the same time… he had missed her, there was a lot he had once wanted to tell her. 

It was almost electric, almost a shock, as she reached for his hand. She was ice cold, a true resemblance of the being she was now.

“Ny…,” he began softly. “I’m…” He looked into her eyes, saw her pain and, to his surprise her fear. Perhaps this was an echo of her last moments, the pain and fear. Perhaps she had to relive that over and over again…especially when Vailf was around. Julian was determined to find out what happened to her. 

“Someone’s coming,” Nyanah whispered and stepped back. It was like a wave of warm air as she dissolved into a shadow and disappeared through the wall. Julian stared after her for a moment longer, shook by what he had felt and seen in her eyes as the door flew open. 

Kras strolled in with a bright grin.

“That was a hunt, Jules. You should have seen it.” The older witcher said as he took his coat off and finally his shoes and tossed them over a chair in Julian’s room before sitting onto Julians bed. 

“I am getting an idea just by the stench of your boots. I hope what you have on your boots is mud…”

“Uhm…nope…” Kras proceeded to take off his shirt and finally the pants before just crawling into Julian’s bed. Julian rolled his eyes. He reached for the boots and placed them back outside. He pulled to robe off as he walked to his bed and got into it as well.

Kras woke first when the morning came. He got up and put his pants on while Julian stretched, a bit like a kitten.

“I think I finally have an idea what to do about you and Aard.” Kras announced. That got the former bards attention. 

“What would that be,” he asked as he got up and started looking for his pants. Kras leaned against the wall and smirked.

“I’ll show you later, cub, ” the older witcher provided.

“Fine. I trust you. Where did you throw my pants?” Julian looked around where he thought it could be found. Kras motioned towards the general area, which had Julian check it out. Since it was close to the window he looked out…to find them lying at the bottom of the tower, in a pool of mud. “You…threw my pants out of the window.” He looked at Kras and found him shrugging, though smirking. 

“Guess you’ll have to go get it.”

“You tossed it out,” Julian protested.

“I will provide breakfast.”

“Eggs!”

“Julian, where the hell am I supposed to get eggs from?”

“I don’t care! You threw my pants out of the window, get me eggs!” Kras laughed. Shaking his head he walked out of the room, to which Julian could only assume was him going to prepare breakfast that did not include eggs, which he knew and expected. There simply were no chicken in this keep, so no fresh eggs to be had.

Once Julian had his pants on he joined his new family for breakfast…except Kras wasn’t there. Confused he looked at the others.

“Don’t look at us, he just came through her mumbling something about eggs,” Vailf said with a shrug as Julian sat down and reached for the jug of water to pour himself a glass. 

“He rode off,” Grover supplied as he walked passed his youngest cub, placing his hand on his shoulder quickly and squeezing for just a moment, an affectionate gesture Julian got used to by now. These people had embraced him as one of their own so easily and he enjoyed every moment with them. They were definitely an upside to becoming a witcher. And the fact that Kras rode of mumbling about eggs, could only mean one thing: he rode out to get eggs. 

It was well past lunch when Kras returned, his horse pulling a small cart. In it were

“Chicken,” Julian asked.

“Yes, it was about time we had chicken here. So no eggs today, but tomorrow.”

“You are nuts.”

“I’m a witcher, we are all kind of nuts. We fight the things others would flee from.” He had a point about that, Julian knew as much. But this was their life and they were good at this, well he was getting good at this. Still, there was no doubt they were nuts. They truly were. It was needed in a world like this.

“Speaking of being a witcher. You should go back training, while I set the chicken up.” Julian just leaned forward to kiss the older witcher on the cheek before turning around to join Grover for his daily training. He paid no mind to Vigo and Valif sitting there. They tended to watch when they had nothing to do. 

A while in, though, he began to see ashes rain down from the sky.

“What…?” Confused he tried to look around, but looking down on himself he saw the ashes begin to engulf him, sticking together like a layer of stone, trying to immobilize him. Through the thick flurry of ashes falling he could see Grover raising his hand in a way that was entirely familiar. Julian shook his head, trying to shake off seeing the ashes. They held him tightly so tightly he thought he might lose the ability to breath soon. His heart was beating so heavily at this point, it was almost painful. His mind lost track of his mentors around him a she panicked and only one thought remained: How to get out of this situation. How to run. He had to run. He had to get out. He had to…get the layer of ashes away from him. He tried to scream, but at first no sound escaped him, but soon sound broke through and as it did, the ashes flew off him as if they had been blasted off. For a moment they lingered and then disappeared. No trace of them remained. 

Breathing hard, Julian looked around to find Grover lying in front of him, Vigo and Vailf to either side of him and Kras behind him, as if they had been pushed back by…Aard.

“You did it!” He turned to look back at his mentor, Grover as he cheered. “You used Aard! Kras, your plan worked!” His plan worked. That was the idea Kras had talked about, getting him to use Aard like this. It was…not a bad idea, as invasive as it was. Something had been blocking him. And he was beginning to understand what it was. It had a certain finality about him. The way his brothers rose from the ground, the way Grover looked at him, all eyes filled with pride and yet a little bit of dread. He felt his own eyes sting as his heart started to beat heavily again. He didn’t want to say it himself. 

Grover came to him slowly. He placed his hands on Julian's neck and pulled him down enough to touch their foreheads together. Julian closed his eyes, as he knew Grover did, too. He allowed himself to breathe as deeply as possible  
“You’re ready,” Grover whispered as he moved to embrace his student. One boy one the other three witchers joined.


	4. Dust to Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian takes down his first Monster and leaves Haern Caduch.

“You’re ready.” Words Julian wanted to hear for a while. He had felt ready if it hadn’t been for Aard. He was still not sure he mastered it on a daily basis, but they all now knew that in a situation of stress he would be able to use it, and frankly, that was all it took. Hunting monsters was a situation of stress after all. The other witchers embraced him one by one, with Kras being the final one.  
As they pulled away the dark-haired man smiled gently at the younger. 

“I knew you could do it.”

“You did tell me so very, very often.” He had. With every training that Kras witnessed or even held, he told Julian he knew he had it in him and he did. Kras placed his hand on his cheek. 

“I will join you on the path for the first little while,” he announced to their cub. He was grateful. Things were a little different for him than for the boys that were trained from boyhood to become witchers: Their training lasted longer, but then again they were absolute rookies in many things, like sword-fighting. Julian himself was not. He had been raised as an heir to the Viscount de Lettenhove, with that came sword training and other various weapons. He was reasonably good even when traveling as a bard. All he had to do was be able to defend himself long enough to get away. But it was a good base to being trained as a witcher. He knew he was nowhere near the skill of Kras, Vailf, Vigo or Grover, certainly nowhere near Geralt, but again this was where things differed between him and witchers that were raised as such from boyhood: He had lived long enough to be humble enough to know his own limits. He would no longer run head-first into danger…mostly at least. It was still a great relief to have Kras with him, for companionship and to get used to that lifestyle and to get used to no longer getting places with just a smile and a saucy little poem. If he imagined any of his brothers or even Geralt trying that, he would still fall over laughing, so he had to get used to that. But there was something else.

“I have something to finish here first, though. Something important,” he announced. “I will need Valif for that.” The others looked at him curiously, nobody knowing what he could be wanting.

“Of course, cub. Whatever you need,” Valif said, sure of himself and fully trusting of Julian. That look would change slightly.

“I need you as bait. I plan on banishing the wraith.”

“Julian, no!” Grover grabbed his shoulders and looked at him full of concern and anger. “The wraith knows too much about witchers. She is prepared. Not even we can stop it with our knowledge.”

“Her. You can’t stop her. Her name is Nyanah. She is from Lettenhove. Has been dead for a few decades,” Julian pointed out which had all of them stare in absolute surprise. Valif visibly paled. Grover asked Julian how he knew, but he was too focussed on Valif’s reaction to react to his primary mentor. “You knew her, didn’t you? You know how she died.” The older witcher nodded. 

“By the hands of monsters,” he started to explain. All eyes were on him. “I didn’t know it was her. I…she has been weighing on me ever since her death. I failed her. It was a contract in Lettenhove. She tried to intervene with everything and trying to get me to talk to the monster first…”

“Which is what we all usually try to first,” Grover said concerned. 

“It was more than one monster, though. Had it only been the sylvan, things would have gone without bloodshed and I might have been able to talk sense into the sylvan and the people of Lettenhove.” Julian sighed.

“No, you would not have been. The Viscount at the time was very much against monsters of any kind,” Julian supplied. “I was born there, too.” Neither Kras, nor Grover was surprised, both of them knew it already, the other two never asked and it didn’t even matter. They knew Julain the witcher, they did not need to know Julian Alfred Pankratz. That man, like Jaskier, was a man of the past. 

“Oh, that I believe easily. Anyway, the people did not take kindly to her talking to me and me listening. They got her into a warehouse, beat her up, tied her up there to use as bait for what they, sadly correctly, assumed to be a vampire. It came, toyed with her. She was beyond saving when I arrived. I killed the monster and then wanted to kill her, you know, end her suffering because there was no way she could survive it. As I prepared for it another vampire appeared. In the fight the warehouse caught fire. I couldn’t get to her anymore. I assume she died in the fire.”

“And she blamed you,” Julian sighed. Even though he knew Vailf was not at fault there, the people were. He tried his best, but people didn’t necessarily have empathy for witchers, he learned that when he traveled with Geralt. That was something he had to get used to. “I have an idea. But I can’t tell you. If I tell you, something might give it away. The only thing I will tell you is where I want you.”

And that was the dining area at the time Nyanah usually went out to torment him. Julian made his preparations. He went down, witcher gear on, two swords strapped to his back. He sat down with Vailf, trusting Nyanah would not expect him to be there. He knew the others would wait outside, for several reasons: To aid him and to help Vailf, expecting him to be as done as he usually was. He couldn’t blame them. To their information, Nyanah just knew too much to be an opponent they could take down like that. To Julian's information, he just needed to think outside of the box. And use their connection.

The first sign was the sudden drop in temperature. Julian knew it was her gathering strength, he knew that she was sucking energy from things and people. It was what she had done to Vailf all this time. He remained seated as Vailf seemed almost nervous, but not even for himself. He was uncomfortable having their youngest witcher be the one to fight this wraith essentially by himself. 

The next sign was one that Julian had never witnessed himself, but had read about in the countless books he had consulted on this: Eerie sounds as if a woman was crying out in anguish far away. He knew it was part of what she did to manifest as wraith. She was using her own anguish as that, these cries most likely resembled the way she cried out in her final moments. 

Every fire in the room went out. Both him and Vailf drew their swords. Vailf’s eyes widened as he looked behind Julian, who himself felt the coldness behind him. She was here. He turned around. With satisfaction, he noticed how the wraith hovered back a little as if taken aback to see him here. It was no surprise to him to see Nyanah surprised at his presence. He could act after all and he had played his part well enough. 

“Hello Nyanah,” he said to the wraith. The temperature dropped a little more as she grew a little taller a little more menacing, but it did not work. This was the sweet girl he once knew, driven mad by pain and fear in her death. She had to be released. In another effort to threaten him she blew cold air at him. It only served to make Julian smile as he got into position. With one hand he used Yrden, which she predictably avoided as he attacked her. It became a dance. They both avoided his magical traps, her occasionally drawing extra energy from both him and Vailf.

“Julian, it’s not working, retreat,” he heard his brother call for him. 

“It is working!” Julian called out to him. He knew Vailf’s doubt of him lured Nyanah into a sense of security which he was banking on. It was supposed to look like a dance with a clumsy young witcher rather than with someone who had a plan and whose plan was working. He had banked on exactly that. He even had expected her to draw energy from him. As he grew weaker he knew he had to end this. She was going closer and closer to the place he needed her as. The pattern of magical traps ensuring she would go into that direction. And suddenly the wall was right behind her. 

Julian smiled triumphantly as he threw another trap behind him and prepared to run her through.

“Julian what are you doing? You can’t! She’s not corporal!” Nyanah seemed equally sure of herself having the upper hand.

“Watch me,” the younger witcher called back as he ran her through. An almost ghostly laugh could be heard from his opponent. And a gasp from Vailf. Vailf caught on faster than Nyanah it seemed.   
Julian smiled up at her and then reached up to place his hand on her cheek. He felt her flinch as she realized that she was corporal now. She looked down at the sword, at him smirking and then at the second sword strapped to his back. He had just run her through with his silver sword, after all, trapping her in place. As he pulled that sword her eyes widened again, as she realized Julian had two silver swords - he had taken a second weapon from the armory, for specifically this. He had kept it in the place of the steel sword to throw her off. 

Nyanah grabbed his hand. He could feel his arm going cold. She was draining him more, but he had to do this. Her eyes were scared, but he knew she was just scared of the other side. This was her last attempt to hold onto this life. His eyes softened.

“Ny…it is time to let go and find rest and peace. This world has nothing to offer to you anymore but pain. It is time to move on. It is time to say goodbye.” With that, he swung the second sword, severed the wraiths head as he could feel the cold spread through his arm and into his chest, to his head. As he felt her dissolve, his sword fell from his arm, the fluttery feeling of dizziness engulfed him.

“JULIAN!” He heard Vailf call out. “GROVER! KRAS!” Julian lost all sense of where up or down was as he felt like falling. Suddenly strong arms had him, darkness danced on the edge of his vision and slowly dragged him into blissful unconsciousness. 

The sun was bright when Julian woke again. Kras sat in a chair by his bed, fast asleep himself. Julian reached over to tap his knee, which startled him awake. He immediately reached for his hand.

“Hey cub, how are you feeling,” he asked as he squeezed his hand, face clearly concerned.

“Tired. What…happened? Nyanah?”

“Gone. You released her. She turned into a very gorgeous young woman and then dispersed for good. She did take some of your energy the whole time. You passed out after it like Vailf did all the other times. He was spared this time. Got into a bit of a rage and drank himself to sleep.” That did sound like the huge Skelliger to Julian. He started to wonder if Nyanah had even taken some energy from him every evening she was with him. But he did not need to worry about that anymore.

“When do we leave on the path?” Julian didn’t want to focus on his friend or the guilt he felt and Kras seemed to understand by the way he smiled. He reached next to him and produced a plate with two eggs.

“Tomorrow. Today I owe you eggs.” Julian laughed and sat up, hands reaching for the plate to dig in. Kras reached for his hand and looked into his eyes.

“How?” 

“Yrden, of course. I used it on the sword. It was apparently done a few centuries ago, but as it requires running the creature through to immobilize it or make it corporal, it was rather impractical for daily use. It was however perfect.” Kras laughed at it.

“Why am I not surprised that you turned out to be the book-smart witcher of this school?”

“Because I have always been book-smart, technically. It was a risk, though,” Julian admitted rather sheepishly.

“Taking risks is literally our job, Julian. Don’t worry. Even if Grover, the old mother hen will tell you otherwise. It is out job. Still am glad I get to watch over your stupid newborn witcher butt.”

“Hey!” Julian hit him lightly in protest of this description of him. “I am not a newborn! I am ready to go out onto the path! Pretty sure that makes me a toddler!”

“Okay, you might be right.”

“Of course I’m right. I am awesome.”

“And you took care of your first monster!” Kras let go of his hand again. “Dig in.”

The next day, Julian had secured what he needed for the path onto a cream-colored mare and rode out with Krass, who was on his black stallion. Upon buying her he had named her Buttercup. She was just a very gentle creature and everything about her screamed ‘flower’ even her coat.

His first contract was a rather simple one: A bunch of nekkers, nothing two witchers couldn’t handle easily. Sleeping in the woods was not bad either. Some Ghoul's and a ghost were his next contracts. Finally his fourth rolled around: another nest of nekkers, a big one. Kras let him handle it all by himself and as they earned enough money by now to have a proper bed and food for one night, they decided to go to the next town and the inn they had there. It was rather a large inn, with a large tavern connected to it. After securing themselves a modest room, one bed was enough for the two of them, after all, they got back down to drink and eat. Bread and cheese were enough, but they had every intention of keeping the ale coming. 

“Two more,” Julian said, out of habit flashing the barkeeper a grin. The man frowned and made no move to get him the two more ales. Julian mustered him and sighed, his smile being replaced by a stern look. “It’s because I’m a witcher isn’t it? You know I have enough coin to pay for it, but that is not your problem. You’d rather not have us around. I can appease you: We will be out of your hair tomorrow. And you know what, the sooner the ale comes, the sooner we are reasonably drunk and up to our lodgings, so two ales, now.” This time the barkeeper grumpily complied. 

Julian brought the smile back out as he joined Kras at the table and set the ale down. The other witcher reached for that immediately. 

“Don’t be bothered by them.”

“I’m not. They hate witchers because we remind them of the shortcomings of men, who can’t defend themselves from monsters as we can. They had to create special monsters against the monsters and thus they hate us for it,” Julian answered simply. Kras stared at him, mouth open, clearly baffled. 

“I mean… Woha, cub, that’s deep.” But also true. Both of them knew that and both of them took a sip of their ale. As Kras sat it down, he frowned a little.

“I have wondered what happened to that bard Jaskier,” he commented: It was an odd comment for Kras to make just out of the blue. But maybe it was not out of the blue. Having learned to focus his newly sharpened senses, he stopped focusing so intently on Kras and listened.

“… as such a very talented bard and my dear friend. At his demise, I promised my dear friend Jaskier to keep his legacy alive…” Julian knew that voice. He knew that voice too well.


	5. A new flame

Julian stared, shocked as the bard picked up his lute and started to play familiar tunes. He remembered how years back he had fiddled with the first chords while walking with Geralt, tinkering with words to make a ballad about what he just experienced. Back then Geralt had called him out for not saying it as it had happened. Back then he had said respect didn’t make history and what happened on the continent continuously proved him right over and over again. They lived in times of war where the winner wrote history. Every bit of history had to be taken with that grain of salt, with that information in mind: History was written by the winners, and by telling it over and over again it was distorted, too. And to top it off: This was art. This was to rhyme. This was a ballad. It sounded different in prose, had to, but the prose was much less limited than ballads. Maybe now he would write it differently, but that was not the point. This was the skill of a young man, he was an entirely different man now, proudly so even.

Julian got up and walked towards the middle of the room to observe Valdo Marx as he played his song. His outfit was surprisingly subtle for the man: Cream colored with cream and white embroidery, with a few golden accents. It was so very toned down for the loud bard who was kind of more of a peacock than any other bard he knew, himself included. To see him toned down like this seemed out of character, at least to Julian. Julian moved to a dark corner, just out of view from the bard as it was slightly behind it. He decided to prank him, probably one last time. Valdo knew his voice like Julian had known his voice. 

With the next chorus, Julian sang along, just loud enough for Valdo to hear it, but not for most of the others. He watched as he saw him flinch a little, look around. He remained silent until the next chorus and joined him again. That certainly had an effect. Valdo visibly shook as he finished the song, earning him a bit of Julian’s respect. Pulling through with the song was not something many would do at that moment, while hearing the voice of the man they assumed deceased - with right, too. 

Once the song was done, Valdo gave the audience half a bow and then reached for his things and left through the back door. Julian left the inn as well, through the front. He rounded it to catch the bard. The ally was dark, but Valdo was instantly clearly visible to his witcher eyes. He was pale and shaken, so shaken that it made Julian regret his little prank, which was why he was now extra intent in talking to him. 

“Valdo,” he said as the other man was close enough to see at least his outlines. Valdo flinched, he took a step back.

“Are you…h… haunting me? Why? I have…I have done nothing to…you.” He seemed terrified. And he seemed different. There was something in his eyes beyond the fear that Julian could not put his finger on yet.

“I am not dead, Valdo,” Julian said. “At least not I as a person. Jaskier, the bard, he is. Julian…is very much alive.” Valdo came closer. He was clearly confused. It cleared up when he was finally close enough to recognize him and see the differences in him. His confusion cleared and what remained was an almost relieved, but also confused expression.

“Jaskier…what happened to you,” he asked him. Valdo reached out with a shaking hand to place on his arm, a gesture he was once not nervous to do. They had a terrible rivalry, but at the same time: if it came to it they would have stood up for each other as colleagues at least. Julian reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze to reassure him as well.

“It is a long, long story… but you deal in long stories, don’t you?”

“Not as well as you do.”

“Did. Bit me in the ass in the end, didn’t it? Or well, more like sunk its claws into my stomach. A griffin. I was found by a witcher of the bear school. He took a chance on me.”

“And so he mutated you…and made you a witcher?”

“He saved my life, Valdo. He gave me a second shot at life.”

“Where was your witcher?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t travel together all the time. There were times we didn’t travel together.” Valdo nodded, but his eyes betrayed a deeper understanding of the situation. So far Julian had not been made to ask about what had become of the other witcher. Geralt had been a constant in his life all these months ago when he was still Jaskier. With his brothers, he never mentioned the white wolf, never had to verbalize the rocky friendship that once connected them. Being his friend had been something that had defined Jaskier. But Jaskier was dead, Julian was someone else now. And Valdo seemed to read it in his face. It was, back then, one of the sources of discontent between them: Valdo had the ability to read him and use that to his advantage back then. And he was good, that was another source of why they were at each other's throats back then, especially since Jaskier was just naturally better than Valdo, effortlessly so.

“So… I guess you want me to stop playing your songs or claiming you died?” Valdo seemed open and sympathetic to it. For a moment Julian froze in thinking. Jaskier could never return to the stage, he knew that. Despite people liking Jaskier, Jaskier being a witcher would not be something they would accept. They would much rather accept the bard's death. And with it the rise of a second bard, one equally as skilled as Jaskier, less likable, but if someone could just give him a little shove in the right direction, give him a story that might make him look more likable, make him the bard that had the evidence to prove Jaskier regarded him as equal. Julian held his hand up to tell Valdo to wait. He rushed to Buttercup and pulled his two notebooks out of her bag, the third one remained in there. 

“Take these,” Julian said. Valdo did so without hesitation. In the lack of light of the alley he could not read what was in them, Julian knew, so he continued: “My remaining ballads. None of them played yet. Take them, they’re yours now. I can never be Jaskier again, Valdo. Jaskier would never be accepted, his fall from grace would benefit nobody. But…his death would benefit you. Give him a glorious death.” He could see Valdo swallow as he shook. It was clear he had not expected this gesture. 

“I will write the greatest ballad about Jaskiers death, Julian…” Valdo moved forward to hug the other man. Now Julian could see tears glisten in his eyes.

“Valdo?” He placed a hand on his shoulder, not knowing how to comfort the old rival or where it even came from.

“I…apologize for all the vile things I said about you, Julian.”

“It entertained the masses, didn’t it,” Julian answered. “I hold no grudge over it. I did pander to the taste of the masses, did I not. But it seems you do, too, now. Why?”

“I have two mouths to feed now, without a mother. I have no choice but to pander to the masses.” Julian shook his head.

“You can do both at the same time. Pander to the masses to earn coin, feed your children, pander to your art to please yourself, feed your soul.”

“And give Jaskier a glorious death.” The two embraced once more. As Valdo moved away, Julian turned to look after him.

“See you around, Valdo. Give your children a greeting from me when you see them next.” He waited for the old rival to disappear before turning back to the inn, only to find Kras leaning against the wall by the door, an amused smirk on his lip. It was clear he had heard everything. 

“So, I guess I now know what happened to Jaskier,” he commented. Julian shrugged as he moved to him. Kras pushed off of the wall and opened his arms just as Julian moved into them for a tight hug. He hadn’t known about Valdo having children. He knew about him having found love, about him wanting to get married. Apparently he did. Apparently they had children. Apparently his wife was no more. None of it mattered. He had ensured Jaskier’s last songs would get played and he had ensured Valdo would be able to put a bit more food onto the table for his kids. It felt really good and yet…painful. This life was behind him now, he could never go back to that life. 

“Come upstairs with me, tell me all about Jaskier. I’d like to know who he was before he so gloriously gave his life so the bear cub could be born.” Nodding, Julian allowed Kras to guide him upstairs.

The two of them talked for the longest time that night before allowing themselves to sleep to be ready to go out again the next day, to a new contract. They found the contract in the form of a town calling for help about a beast in the woods, that was apparently harming their hunters, killing them, if the fresh graves were anything to go by. The two witchers set out to figure out what it was, but they did not get far. Following claw marks they came across a clearing where they could hear heavy and pained breathing. The metallic smell of blood flooded their noses as they got closer to find a hunter laying in the middle of the clearing, his torso, and legs torn up, but somehow still alive. With every beat of his heart, it seemed to get weaker. 

Both witchers ran to him. Kras immediately assessed his wounds, Julian pressed down on the man's hand, which was on the wound his torso. It only seemed to slow the blood a little bit. He stood no chance of survival, not like that. 

“Julian…,” Kras began. Julian looked up at him. He was clearly torn about something. Julian expected him to tell him to take his hand off the wound, pull the man's own hand away, too. Or even to warn him of him making a cut that would put the man out of his misery. But no such request came. “You will have to decide. I…I think he we could save him the way Grover saved you…” Julian understood immediately. It was not a question of could he let the man go, it was a question of it being worth trying to save him even if it meant he would become a witcher. It was a question of Julian himself wanting things to go differently if he had the chance to go back and make Grover decide differently. But Julian remembered what he had seen, how fighting had been his own choice, no matter if he understood the consequences or not. It was a heavy decision to make for someone else, but if the hunter was like him…then the decision would not be Jaskier’s but his own.

“Try it, Kras.” There was just the hint of a smile on Kras’ face as he fished out the vial and administered the contents to the hunter. The two men cauterized, sewed, and bound the wounds as best as they could before loading him onto Kras’ horse. Time was not on the man's side, but they allowed themselves one short moment.

They hugged one last time, for now at least.

“Maybe this is the last time I get to call you cub.” Julian watched as he rode away, clutching the hunter to him, to bring him to the keep and hopefully to save his life. He left Julian behind to tackle this contract by himself…and Julian knew he could handle it.

“I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Valdo having two kids to raise by himself is from my dear stars_are_eternal  
> We are now approaching an inevitable reunion.  
> 


	6. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Geralt meets a bard is the day everything changes - again.

Heads turned as a dark figure limped along. The figure was dragging his left leg behind him, barely putting any weight on it. The torn pants and the dark wetness that seemed to coat them tipped anyone off to a rather impressive wound laying under the tear. A horse was trodding along after the man, not limping, but it was clear that wound would be too painful to get on a horse. A few bypassers stared at him as he went into the Inn. All eyes were on Geralt of Rivia as he came in. With an annoyed huff, he limped to the bar, just wanting to lay down.

“A room for a night,” he said. The man, though frowning, did turn, probably to get keys. Geralt simply stayed put, trying to stay awake long enough until he was upstairs until he could rest and wait for his leg to heal. He was lucky he was pierced by the non-poisonous pincers, otherwise, he would have never made it here. With a heavy sigh, the witcher turned to look around. There were a lot of patrons in the Inn, many of which sat at tables, eyes focused on the stage, where a bard was set up to entertaining the crowd.

Out of simple curiosity - nothing more, of course - Geralt craned his neck to see who the bard was. The man in his gold attire was unknown to him, so he looked around more at the patrons. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind, which was good. All attention was trained on the bard just like he had once seen all eyes trained on Jaskier. He wondered where he was now. It was so long since he last saw him. Maybe he was avoiding him. Over the years they traveled together, Jaskier had learned so much about him, that he would not be surprised if he truly was avoiding him. He couldn’t blame him. After everything, he said to him. He had regretted it the moment he said it. Of course, not everything was Jaskier’s fault. So much was simply a collection of coincidences leading them to this point, destiny or fate at work, either or both could really screw someone over, especially if you believed in them. He hadn’t until he found Ciri again until destiny really showed itself. 

Suddenly he picked up on one word in the song and once again looked at the bard. He was young, bouncing about like he was some kind of animal, untamed and way too energetic. His long red hair bounced with every step. His entire demeanor did not fit the song at all. He seemed joyous as he sang of a griffin attacking a bard. He smiled as he described how talons dug into the chest of no other than Jaskier. He let out a laugh as he described how a friend found his lifeless corpse and his notes, notes of songs of great endeavors, love and pain. 

Geralt’s mind focused on the part where Jaskier apparently died. It was impossible, right? He could not be dead? But notes, he knew Jaskier had notes, but still, there was no way he died, right? A flash of pain shot through his leg as he distractedly put weight on said leg. It was a mistake. But he did not care. He could handle that kind of pain. A second source of pain seemed to bloom in his gut. Geralt pressed a hand to it, expecting fluid to seep out between his fingers. He expected blood. He did not expect the pain to remain unchanged, even under the applied pressure. Distractedly he took the key the owner gave him and then found his legs carry him to the bard, who was packing up. The poor guy flinched as he towered over him.

“I…did I do something?”

“The last song. What really happened?”

“With J…Jaskier? I don’t know… Valdo Marx…”

“Did you say Valdo Marx?” Jaskier hated that guy, as far as Geralt knew. So maybe it was just rumors, nothing to be worried about.

“Yes. He apparently inherited every piece of writing from Jaskier when he died.” Jaskier would not, would he? Then again, the rivalry could mean he respected him as his equal, maybe he would leave it to him. Maybe not. Right now there was no way for him to find out. Not from this person, he knew as much. He turned around to go upstairs, to nurse his wounds. “Are you the white wolf Jaskier sang about?” Geralt did not dignify that with a reply. Instead, he limped to the room he was given, longing for a be and the chance to forget this ever happened.

He did not forget. The idea of Jaskier being gone haunted his night. Whenever he thought he could just relax, he heard his voice. It was like a taunt with how cheerful it sounded:

“Come on, you have to find out about it! Will you really just ignore it and let it stand? You are dying to prove them wrong, are you not? Come one, you totally are. You are going to go out there and find me, probably drunk in some ditch or glued to a woman because let’s be real that is so much more likely than me just dying. Like I would be able to die quietly. I would have made sure the entire continent knows!” Always at that stage, Jaskier’s voice sobered up, became quiet, almost soft. “But then again…the entire continent knows, don’t they? They sing songs.” And that was the problem. He did not believe it, but some nagging part of him told him that this, the songs were so very consistent with what he expected would happen should Jaskier die.

Initially, he decided to ignore it. Once the leg was healed up he set out, found a new contract, fulfilled it. All through it Jaskier’s voice stayed a constant companion in it, so he decided to go and find out the truth, hoping he would find Jaskier alive at the end of it.

It took him a week. The wind was chilly as he finally made his way up the hill where the griffin's nest was - or used to be. It was not hard to see that the griffin itself was no longer a problem. The first thing he saw was the large skeletal remains of a griffin, the head most noticeably missing, as well as a few talons, the expert work of another witcher. Someone had been here and slain the beast, so maybe Jaskier was still alive. He turned around, prepared to examine every single bone to ensure they were not the bones of the bard.

Suddenly his attention singled one object out entirely. Here was the undeniable evidence of what the bard had said. It had caught his eyes straight away after tearing the gaze from the remains of the griffin, like a red flag in what otherwise looked like just another griffin's nest. Geralt bent down to pick up one of the broken pieces of a lute to examine it. There was a lot of dark brown, crusted blood on it, breaking off already like old paint, the deeper stains would probably never leave the wood, even if someone was to clean it. There was no doubt about it being Jaskiers lute, too. It was the very lute the elf king had given him years before. Jaskier had spent so much time not only caring for it but also praising over how wonderful the lute was. Geralt looked at the strap next, or what was left of it anyway. It was torn in three parts, by the talons of the beast. Geralt knew they sliced easily not only through straps but also through human skin. For the first time, he looked at the bones. From the looks of it, several humans died, one of them…Jaskier.

A weight settled on his chest, that made breathing hard. He took a step back looking at the bones. Jaskier carried the lute on his back. The griffin had sliced his chest open. The witcher balled his hands to fists, his eyes burning. 

A foreign sound escaped him, just as his knees hit the ground, his entire body shaking. Even if he had an ear to listen to him, there was no way for him to explain the pain in his chest, that he experienced right now. The world blurred as the first tear slipped from his eyes with a strange small relief. More followed and soon the witcher was sobbing. Jaskier had been his friend and he was unable to even use this term with him. But what was the harm in it? What was he afraid of? This. He just never knew what it would cause in him. Instead of having been removed from him when Jaskier died, both geographically and emotionally, he felt the pain of this loss. Being away from him still meant Jaskier was part of this world, still lived, sang, laughed, drank, loved. Now he knew he died, killed by a creature he should have been able to dispose of so easily. Had he not sent him running, he might have been by his side here, he might have been able to save him. Or at the very least, he would have been able to take his pain away as he slipped from this world. Had he only been able to use this word once, maybe everything would have changed? Maybe Jaskier would still be alive…

Geralt tied the broken lute to Roache's saddle as he set out with her again. He intended to slowly make his way back north, back to Kaer Morhen, to meet with his brothers and see how his child surprise was doing under the tutelage of Yennefer and Vesemir. It was intended to be a much shorter excursion south for a few contracts to keep his skills and senses sharp. It had taken a bit longer than he had thought. For a moment he thought about going to Lettenhove, to bring the lute there, allow them to do with it as they pleased. He would have brought Jaskier’s body home if he had been able to identify it. He had no chance anymore. All he could do was take the lute. He decided against it. He decided to take it to Kaer Morhen with him, on what he saw as perhaps Jaskier's last adventure. He was not decided on what to do with it exactly. Maybe he would bury it instead of Jaskier’s body, maybe he would just keep it there as a memory, maybe he would carry a piece with him, as a reminder of what he had, what he lost and what this pain meant to him.

By chance, he heard of a contract in Maribor on his way north and decided to take a detour there. It turned out to be a simple wraith, which was easily disposed of, so easily he could allow himself to get a warm meal at a local tavern. He did not pay the creme colored mare any mind as he tied Roach up in the stables. He did not look around, as he went to ask for a bit of stew and good ale. The warm food was just what he needed. He would be on his way soon, but it might be a while until he would be able to have another elaborately cooked meal again, maybe even until he arrived in Kaer Morhen. A bit more satisfied overall he returned to Roach, only to stop in front of her. There was a scent.

The scent was both so very familiar and yet also slightly foreign. It smelled like Jaskier, leather, and blood. This could not be. Was this the newest form of his friend haunting him? He felt the weight on his chest again, the pain. If only this could be real, but there was no way.   
“Let’s go,” he said to his horse as he untied her, once more smelling that scent that seemed to linger around her head as well, as it once did when Jaskier in the mornings fed her a treat and stroked her nose gently. He had always grumbled about it, but she liked it and secretly, so had he. He could not linger on these thoughts. Mounting her, he rode north...and the scent seemed to accompany him.


	7. Flames gather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the cub meets the white wolf again.

Julian initially wanted to just rest in the Inn, before going further north, where he figured there would be more contracts. He had not expected the door to open and a white haired witcher to walk in. Nothing in this world could have prepared him for this moment, to see Geralt again. His heart skipped a beat, painfully so. As he was not prepared, he finished his ale as Geralt seemed to order something for himself. As silently - he was sure Geralt would snort at the very thought of him silent - as he could, he walked out of the Inn, towards his mare…who stood next to Roach. Roach neighed as she saw him. He smiled and walked over to her.

“Hey girl,” he whispered to the horse as he reached for her to gently pet her, as he had done a million times before, when he was still Jaskier. None of it seemed to bother Roach. Roach knew him and still trusted him, rightfully so. He would never harm the kind mare. She was a marvel, much like Buttercup, so well-behaved and steady, quite different to Kras’ stallion, who was all fire and temperament, perfectly happy with kicking the odd ghul and nekker in the face. If he could, he would fight alongside Kras, which mean he had to get him away most times. After petting his friends horse he reached for his saddle bag and pulled out an apple, which he cut in halves, offering one to each of the horses, which both took seemingly happy. 

“I have to leave again, Roach. Take care, of yourself and your brooding idiot, will you? Like Buttercup takes care of me.” His own mare neighed proudly and threw her head back a little as if to signal her pride in being able to take care of a witcher. She was, if it wasn’t for Buttercups slowing down at times and stubborn resting, he would take less breaks and breaks were surprisingly necessary. And she had a wonderful sense of people, which complimented his. The witcher needed words to judge a person, Buttercup needed far less. One last look at the familiar companion, and he mounted his own…before realising he never loosened the rope with which she was loosely tied to a pole, so he dismounted again, untied her and then finally went on his way with her, which she seemed less than thrilled about. He could only assume she wanted to stay and rest herself, so he vowed to not ride too far before making camp with her to allow her to rest and to go slowly.

He really did not go far before coming across a small lake where he could take a break. There was nothing dangerous around, but he could not go deep enough to be unseen from the road. Still, it was perfect for the horse to rest and for him to rest. Buttercup even indulged herself by walking a small way into the water, getting her legs a bit wet before feeding on the grass around the encampment. Julian started a fire meanwhile and settle down, watching her.

A neigh from the stream made him look to the stream. Thanks to his improved senses he could see the white hair clearly and in time for him to pull his hood up. He saw Roach want to trod to him and Buttercup, but the witcher stirred his horse away and that was that. Julian caught him look back in confusion once, but that was that. It seemed like they came very close, again, to meeting. Julian knew he could not avoid him forever.

To be clear he could only avoid him until the next day. The next town over saw him go towards a smithy, which was exactly where Geralt emerged from, carrying supplies he probably needed. Now here was no way to avoid them. Even if he turned around, it was the very moment Geralt looked up, saw him and quite literally froze. Mouth hanging open in shock, it was not Geralt to react first, it was Julian. Julian had spent years and years pretending, being not only a bard on stage, but also an actor, so smiling at his friend was not hard, truly selling it was to a certain extend. Geralt had the possibility of knowing him well - the question was just if he had allowed himself to.

“Geralt, fancy seeing you here.”

“J…Jaskier…? But you…”

“Died? Well, Jaskier did. You are aware that Jaskier was a pseudonym for a bard, right?” He was not even sure Geralt was. He seemed very insecure. He was downright shaking at this point. So Geralt had found out about the stories of Jaskier having died. He seemed shaken in what he knew, shaken and not entirely over the fact. His eyes held the smallest hint of softness and hope, as if the knowledge of Jaskier being alive might actually be good news to him

“But your body…I found your body…your lute…?”

“Clearly you did not find my body, I am still very much attached to it. My lute is another story.”

“How?”

“How about we go to a tavern, sit down, talk properly and you tell me how the hell you even thought you found my body.” The witcher seemed frozen in time, unable to reply so Julian nodded his head towards a tavern, turned around and walked there, trusting Geralt would follow. His steps were clearly audible for him now. Before they only were when Geralt deliberately stepped audibly, now, thanks to his new senses he heard the steps regardless. It was interesting how the world around him changed. Colors have become brighter, even smaller things have become clearer to him. He retained senses he had before, namely the ability to read people, something that he learned witchers usually severely lacked as he learned not only with Geralt, but also with the other bears. 

Obviously they both turned heads when they entered the tavern. Julian ordered them drinks and sat down at a table in the middle of the room - not really caring about the discomfort of the few daytime patrons that were in the bar at the moment. They were just as entitled to be here as any other, they were paying customers who meant no harm and who inflicted no harm by their mere presence. 

“So, how on the continent did you think you found my body,” he asked his old friend, needing to hear the story. Geralt eyed his drink, as if he was looking for words. He was not the most worthy person in this world, Julian knew, he was not one to spin words to please, but this time he seemed either at a loss of what to say or genuinely wanted to be sure to say the right thing. Julian took a sip of his drink, wanting to offer him the opening he might need, as well as the time.

“I heard the stories, Jaskier. I followed your trail to the Griffins nest and there was your lute, surrounded by bodies. I thought one of them was yours.” That did make sense to Julian at least. Grover did not have time to clean anything up. He probably only grabbed Julian and his bag and was out of there after killing the griffin. He knew he collected his reward afterwards, while Julian was still out of it, but in essence, he rushed to see if he could save him. Then again Julian did not want to succumb to the idea of him having saved him. While he had, it had ulterior motives, namely those to see if the concoction he had derived from fragments worked. And it did. Making new witchers was no longer impossible.  
“How did you…you’re mutated, but how,” Geralt added as Julian was as deep in thought of what his friend had discovered.

“First, my name is Julian, Geralt, not Jaskier. Jaskier was truly the pseudonym I used as a bard and well the bard is dead, isn’t he?” He looked at Geralt to find him nod just slightly. Julian assumed that he did not understand yet, but he would, once he explained it to him.   
“When I ended up in the clutches of that Griffin, I was on the brink of death, but the people living close-by to the nest had put up a contract on the beasts head. Grover, the eldest witcher alive of the school of the bear, was the witcher to take the contract. He found me, bleeding out, all alone, with only once way known to him to save me. It was a long shot, I’ll admit that, it might as well have accelerated my death in absolute agony, but it didn’t. He gave me the concoction of grasses.” Eyes widening Geralt seemed to now grasp the extend of his mutations.

“You can’t be a witcher, Jas…Julian.” Julian caught the moment where he corrected himself, slight widening of his pupils once more, a little faltering in his speech, a genuine insecurity, that betrayed that Geralt was trying to be kind here. It wasn’t in good intention. 

“But I am. Grover gave me the choice, to train as a witcher or go out into the world like this, but really, the eyes as fancy as gold is, they are so very clearly giving away that I am a mutant now. You know how the general opinion of mutants is.”

“Not everyone is like that. You weren’t,” Geralt pointed out. 

“Perhaps destiny had her fingers involved there,” Julian pointed out. “I knew no matter what most people would not accept me anymore, most certainly not as a bard. But at least as a witcher I could…” Julian stopped. He knew why he chose to train. He knew what it was, he wanted to still be able to do something that would help people, but underlying there was the desire to remain a useful part of society. And even deeper there was the fear he could not handle the rejection he was now facing every day without the training and without holding on to the fact that he was in some way contributing to things regardless. Perhaps it was shameful to admit, but that was what cards destiny had given him and he wanted to play them to his advantage. 

“So he mutated you without giving you a choice in the matter?” Now Julian could detect a hint of anger in this.

“Geralt, that’s kind of a witcher thing to do. Witchers turned children without giving them a choice and… well even if I had a choice, my choice was between this or certain death. I could have still died, but I would have chosen this, Geralt. It allowed me to live a little longer, I would not have passed that chance, had I been given it.” He looked at his friend who once more seemed more interested in his drink, than in him, but this time, again, Julian could recognize that he was thinking. He was trying to make sense of the entire situation. 

“Hearing of my death hurt you…,” he finally said, feeling like that might be the source of the broodiness his friend or former friend displayed here. He was dealing with his death, it hurt him.

The only reply was a soft grunt, a grunt which in Geralt’s case could mean a million words at once. But if one knew how to interpret them, these words were out there in the open, obvious to read. Julian had spent decades in his presence and he knew his grunt. This one was soft, laced with pain, like when he asked him about the brooch on his sword and the woman who it belonged to and other times. This was a display of regret and pain. So yes, hearing about his death hurt Geralt. Julian was just about to speak when Geralt looked up at him.

“I kept thinking that if I hadn’t sent you away, you might still be alive now.”

“Geralt, we parted ways all the time. Even if you hadn’t done what you did, this might have happened.”

“But I could have protected you, had I been there!” His voice grew louder and louder with emotion Geralt let out, disguised in anger. Julian sighed.

“Geralt, maybe you could have, maybe not, sometimes destiny has her own ways to work and maybe this was my destiny all along. You are not the only one she screws over, you know? Everyone here has a burden to bear due to destiny. And as much as you liked to blame me for yours - to which I only take responsibility for what I actually did, nothing more - I do not blame you for mine. This is where I am now. The past is the past. Jaskier is dead, but Julian is alive and he tries to not look back. I also tried to avoid you in the Inn last night, but again, Destiny seemed to have other plans for us. Perhaps we are linked in a way we do not understand yet.”

“Perhaps.” Geralt looked at him again. “Destiny also brought me to my child surprise by now. Her name is Ciri.”

“I know, it’s kind of hard not to know what she was called when you’re around royals all the time and I was. Did she survive the attack on Cintra?”

“She did. Julian…I…” Julian didn’t need to hear it. He knew, just by the way Geralt looked at him. He was about to apologize.

“Geralt, it was pretty much in another life for me. I hold no grudge about that, never did. You were unable to cope with what you felt, I wasn’t.”

“You never were. I am still, sorry for how I spoke to you, for what I blamed on you.”

“Bygones, truly. But apology accepted. Now, I think our paths take us roughly the same way, we might as well travel together, for old times sake.”

“For old times sake. So…you touched Roach? I smelled you on her.” There was the slightest smile on Geralts face.

“Believe it or not, Roach actually always liked me, well at least this one does. The previous one was a bit… rougher.” Geralt nodded to that. While Julian understood the reasoning behind Geralt naming each horse the same, the second Roach Jaskier go to meet was nowhere like the other two. This one was a bit of a mean one, where the first and now the third were gentle and companionable. “So, we go North?”

“We go North.”


	8. Dancing flames

Julian was kind of used to the strange looks from people when they passed through a city. He had the same thing with Kras. People not believing their eyes that two witcher’s could get along like they did, not bothering to care if there was a reason for it. Knowing as much as Julian did now, he would be much more surprised to see a witcher from the wolf school and bear school travel together like they did, but here they were. According to Geralt - who chose to give him a very short information - potential ‘customers’ would be evne less amused, believing they would have to pay two witcher, when they don’t want to afford even one. Julian was good with that. He knew, at least a little. He was sure Geralt had not noticed his horses full saddle bags yet. In there were books and copies he made himself, of books, that contained knowledge he intended to consume and learn from it. His approach to rediscover old techniques was already successful, as he had proven with his first monster and others. He looked at it from the perspective that in every story was a grain of truth when you just had the opportunity to look deep enough. Chances were he had time and opportunity to look deep enough.

At the end of the day the two of them left the street and trodded into the forest, where Geralt put up a campfire and Julian built up a little shelter for the horses from the rain that was very, very likely to hit them that night. He build it large enough for him and Geralt to find shelter under it as well.

They still had enough smoked meat to get them by for that night, so once they were set, they could just properly settle down and rest for the rest of the night - if they were not interrupted. Both horses settled down, laing on their sides, showing how much both trusted their respective companion to take care of them. The two witcher’s settled by their sides as the watched the flames. Geralt gave Jaskier a portion of the smoked meat while Jaskier pulled out the cheese and shared that with Geralt. They ate in silence, which prompted the older witcher to a comment.

“You used to be a bit more chatty at campfires,” he pointed out.

“That was a while ago, Geralt. Things changed a lot. Back then I was a bard, young, with limited time ahead of me and limited life experiences. Now… now I am a witcher, I almost died, that changes a person. I don’t… Besides, what really is there to talk about? Unless you want to talk about contracts?”

“You’re not writing anymore.”

“Au contraire, I still am writing. I do intend to give my songs to Valdo Marx, so they get published and played. He can use the money. Maybe I sneak even a few stories about myself in.”

“You always hated that guy.”

“You remember that?” Julian smiled softly. “We were rivals. But things changed there, too. He has changed. He is a father now, he is still cocky when on stage, but off stage? That is a different story. Our last encounter was most pleasant.”

“So you gave him your songs.”

“And stories. There was a bit more in my collection than just songs. And I have no hope of ever performing them. Jaskier is dead, let him rest in peace.”

“So I get to know a whole different person then, is that so?” Smiling, Julian shook his head.

“I am not a whole different person, Geralt. I’ve always been Julian, Jaskier was just an add-on so to speak, a mask under which I outwardly… I guess I protected myself a little. People were less likely to hurt me, if Jaskier was the target.” And then there was Geralt, where there was no clear line back in the day, that was why Geralt had been able to get to Julian like he had done. “Now no mask will protect me. People hate me for what I am.”

“And you intent to prove them wrong?”

“No.” He shook his head and smiled. “No witcher in their lifetime will prove them wrong. No pan will ever convince you it is a weapon instead of a cooking appliance, but a person coming along, telling you and demonstrating you might.”

“It’s what you tried for me.”

“And what Valdo might do for both of us. Now, time to rest, isn’t it? Our Ladies already have the right idea. And it…smells like rain.” He saw Geralt agree and wondered if he smelled it, too. It was possible, right? Maybe that was something he should have asked Kras and something he would, in the future ask Geralt. For now both witcher’s settled. Geralt leaned against Roach and Julian laid down against buttercup, both witcher’s kept their swords close, in case it was needed.

When the sun rose, the two of them got ready to leave again. It took them hours, riding mainly in silence until they had to break for the horses to catch a needed break. They could not go on forever. They could go on much less than witchers. But once they were fed and rested they went back on their way. The next town over though saw several people gathering around them as soon as they arrived, in various states of looking tired and desperate. Desperate enough to almost cheer for Geralt’s and Julian’s arrival. The people crowded them and talked in between each other, all trying to get their attention. It was very evident some dangerous beast had the city in its grasp. Julian swung down from his horse and held his hands up, ever being the person that was way more social than Geralt could ever hope to be. 

“Calm down, people. One by one, tell us what is the case and we will be more than happy to see if we can help.”

“Monsters. Every night. They kill people. They torture us. They won’t let us leave.”

“They bring food.”

“They feed from us.”

“They took my daughter.” Julian grimaced as they listened to it. It did sound like the town was in big, big trouble and it also sounded like they actually might need two witcher’s to help them. The beasts, whatever they were seemed to cut them off. 

“What did they look like,” Julian asked them and specifically looked at the young woman who spoke first.

“Grey. Teeth. They are all teeth. And about as tall as humans.” That ruled nothing out. Geralt made a noise that Julian knew to interpret as annoyance. He could relate. They had little to go by, and probably little time.

“I warn you in advance, we do not work for free. But we are willing to help, or try to help.”

“What if you don’t succeed,” the girl asked shyly.

“I think in that case you will find the situation quite different,” Julian pointed out. “When do they usually appear?” The villagers guided the two witcher’s to their inn, where they sat down and talked about the monsters and payment until there was no more information to be had. And then it was on them to prepare. Where Julian consulted the books, Geralt went out to look for clues if some could be had. They consulted later to share their finds. Julian rattered down some possibilities from the books, Geralt shared the shape and depth of claw marks he found. In the end it left them with possibilities, but no definitive answer, so they geared up for everything they could not rule out definitely. They brewed whatever potion was left and to Geralt’s surprise, Julian did a little more than just dad. Curiously he watched him apparently put spells onto his gloves and braces, but chose not to question him. He was after all of a different school and he did know the bear school was rather well versed in defense, perhaps this was just one of the things they learned there.

As the sky was slowly turning red, the villagers went into their houses, leaving only the two witcher’s outside. They sat down, silver swords ready and waited for the beasts to arrive. Geralt sensed them first. He smirked as he reached for two vials they had not taken, tossing one to Julian. With a now knowing smile the other witcher accepted it and drank it, before getting up, sword ready to engage the creatures approaching.

It turned out to be a rather large group of lower vampires, incharacteristically large, but one look at them and both witchers knew what was happening: They were all on the weaker side, all starving so they sought security in numbers. It was a good thing it was two of them. They were outnumbered but it would have been a lot worse had each been alone. Now they had a chance, before, they would have had to rely on sheer dumb luck. Now they could rely on each other as well.

Geralt engaged first, Julian circled the area first, taking note of every single vampire - he counted 13, so impossible to handle alone. He engaged as soon as he knew what he could. And yet still some slipped through them, once Julian noticed he rushed to protect the houses from the vampires. With almost a flash Geralt felt Julian behind him, crashing into his back. He had felt a vampire back there, but that seemed to have crashed right into Julian, teeth sinking into his arm, which he had flung out to defend Geralt from an attack that would have gone straight for his neck otherwise. Geralt only had a moment to register the slight glow on Julian’s braces, then Julian had his sword through the creatures head and moved on to the neck. In that moment Geralt had to admit one thing to himself: Julian wasn’t bad, a little green, a little rough around the edges, but certainly not bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, it's been a while. Hello, writer's block. That one has hit me hard that chapter. The next one will be a while again as I will go on a little vacation very soon :)  
> But there is another chapter coming up after this one!


	9. A promise of more

Julian hissed, which earned him a chuckled from the man kneeling in front of him. Geralt placed his hand on his knee, gently massaging him as his other hand ran over his forearm.

“If you kept still, it wouldn’t sting like that.”

“That is logically incorrect, Geralt,” the former bard complained. “It is the potion that burns, that burns regardless whether I move or not. It’s not a dance-activated potion, it’s just bloody nasty!” Geralt chuckled as he poured another bit of the potion onto the wound. Julian hissed, which turned into a growl towards Geralt. The white-haired witcher laughed at that.

“You’d think being turned into a witcher would have toughened you up in that regard.”

“Yeah, well you’d think a few centuries under ones belt would make one less of a dumbass, but here we are.” That earned Julian another laugh. It was strange, but good to see him laugh like this. He seemed…lighter in a way and Julian had a bit of an idea why that was. He no longer had to look out for Julian. He no longer had to both fight a monster and protect his friend, his friend could hold his own now, as he had proven when he had gotten that wound:

The sheer amount of monsters was a bit much and to top it off, a traveler chose the moment the witchers fought them, to enter the city. Of course all the monsters turned to try to attack him, which had the witchers surround the man to protect him. With their hunger, came a bit of a frenzy as they tried to reach the man, which made it next to impossible to overview the entire situation. It was inevitable to miss some of them and once Geralt realized he had, one was going for his neck…and never reached it. As Geralt looked around, he saw that Julian had thrown his arm between the monsters teeth and Geralt’s neck. With a precise movement he then simply stabbed the beast, announcing “If it wasn’t a bad idea to get bitten by them, this would be a cool tactic…but since it is, let’s not get bitten!” and Geralt countered that with a sharp “You mean again.”  
From there both witchers had fallen into what could be described as a dance, with Geralt being an offensive fighter and Julian covering his back and defending the innocent man. 

After that fight Geralt had insisted on them sharing a room again and taking care of Julian’s wound properly. And here they were. Julian stared at the witcher and sighed. He understood now, perfectly well. To Geralt human life was short, fleeting. How many humans did he have to watch die? How many witchers? Chances were witchers were around longer. And humans were in general more fragile than witchers, to a certain extent. In a way he understood, but he had done so before. 

“Just one century so far,” Geralt said in response, which was something Julian had wondered before, like so many other things.

Julian reached out and placed his hand on Geralt’s cheek, needing him to look at him, needing to say that. He knew they would part again, soon. They always did. But come winter, they might see each other again and catch up as many witchers did.

“You should allow yourself to make more connections and keep to them, Geralt.” He caught him trying to say something but shook his head. “No, I know why you kept your distance to me and so many others. But you didn’t have to. I know you didn’t want to lose another friend, but I am afraid it didn’t work. Neither for you, nor for me. We were friends, even then, even if you couldn’t say it. And rather than fearing what might happen, why not just enjoy that it happens. There is no way of knowing the future. I am a wonderful example of that. I bet you never expected that.” Again it looked like Geralt wanted to say something. “I know you didn’t. The knowledge on how to make witchers was lost. And I know you beat yourself up about how you failed me and how it got me killed, but Geralt, it is not your job to save everyone, you need to get that into your thick head. You are allowed to enjoy a humans company for as long as they live. I know losing people hurts. I lost some people, too in my lifetime. But it is part of life and these people are never truly lost. The memories you make, they live on in you. Had I died, I would have lived on in you. If I die tomorrow, my memory will live on in you, that is for sure. And yours will live on in me. So losing someone isn’t losing them for good. Promise me you will try.” Julian looked Geralt in the eyes and noticed how he tried to avoid them.

“I know it is hard to even try, trust me, I know. Must be about as hard as trying to get you to let you in.”

“I did let you in.”

“I mean, of course you did, I am irresistible.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Julian said in a tease before he could stop himself. Geralt’s smile disappeared. His expression got a little more serious at that. 

“That is true.” This was one of the rare times where Julian was struck speechless. This was as good as Geralt admitting their friendship outright. He would take it, but he had not expected it at all. Geralt, apparently determined to break the moment, before it turned even more serious, got up. “Get some sleep, Julian.”

“Right back at you.” He watched as Geralt went to take his grimey clothes off and then laid back. It did not take long for sleep to claim him. The last thing he saw was Geralt turning to him, smiling at the sight of him falling asleep.

“I guess it’s time,” Julian announced. He had secured his sword to his horse and looked at where Geralt had already mounted Roach. For a moment Geralt seemed confused and then it seemed to dawn on him. It was time for them to part ways again, for now at least. As Julian mounted his horse, he gave his friend a smile. They both had known it would be coming sooner rather than later. It happened when Julian was human and had to happen now that he was a witcher. But they would meet again, neither of them carried any doubt about that. 

“I guess it is. Take care of yourself, Julian.” The younger witcher nodded and made his horse move. He stopped at the gate of the Inn and turned around to get one last look at Geralt.

“See you around, my friend,” he sad this time just sure that they would meet again.

“I’m not your friend.” Now this was just bullshit. Julian was ready to go into a full rant when he noticed Geralt’s soft smile as he finished what he was going to say. “See you around, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end, for now. I will not rule out a continuation of this, like a little saga from Julian's life. So this is more of a "May we meet again" than "This is the final final part"  
> I plan on diving into some whumptober prompts, Julian and Geralt miiight make an appearance there, too!


End file.
